How to Have a Social Life Without Really Trying
by Wintertime
Summary: [GSR] This could be the culminating moment in his relationship with Sara. Granted, he had never expected it to take place in Greg’s living room with the sounds of a Jenga competition in the background, but still.


NOTES: Because, at one point, everyone has to write one of the popular Greg-throws-a-party stories, and one also has to write a Grissom-and-Sara-play-Truth-or-Dare story. I'm killing two birds with one stone here.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI. For God's sake, I don't even own Jenga.

- -

HOW TO HAVE A SOCIAL LIFE WITHOUT REALLY TRYING

- -

or Gil Grissom's rules for Greg's parties

- -

Grissom had always maintained two rules about going to one of Greg's parties.

One: _If said host manages to actually get the invitation across to you instead of simply stumbling over his own tongue for a good fifteen minutes, gracefully decline. Add some kind of compliment so that he doesn't seem devastated. If, however, said host fails to get out the invitation without a good fifteen minutes of tongue-stumbling, glare at him until he retreats, feeling like a fool. Make this up to him later, if you are in a good mood._

Two: _If, in the unlikely event that someone (read: Catherine, damn her) witnesses your crushing dismissal of invitation before it is actually extended and reams you out for being cruel to animals, first protest that said host is not really an animal, despite his not inconsiderable puppy eyes, then ask what she expects you to do about it. Realize that this statement was a big mistake. Hastily offer to apologize. Glare at certain someone (Catherine is not getting her vacation days this year) when she says that the best apology would be going to the party, and then feel disappointed when your glare only affects skittish lab techs._

_Lather, rinse, repeat. Accept Greg's invitation._

_But don't have fun at the party._

- -

"Grissom. I desire some conference with you."

He could always tell when Greg had rehearsed a conversation in advance, because it began smoothly. It tended to end in a train-wreck of unnecessary verbs and nouns anyway, but it at least began with some precision.

Grissom took off his glasses and closed the folder he'd been reading. He hoped that his intimidating glare was in good working order. It had been a long time since Greg's last party, and Grissom was feeling out-of-practice.

"What is it, Greg?"

"Tomorrow evening, at my humble abode - -"

_He might actually get this one out. Looks like a graceful decline is in order._

" - - which is, admittedly, under renovations at the _precise _moment, due to a leaky waterbed in the apartment above mine, despite clearly-printed rules in the lease agreement stating that both waterbeds and large pets are strictly forbidden. However, said renovations are supposed to be completed by Friday, and the time of this little shindig, so the leaky waterbed is frankly irrelevant."

_There goes the graceful decline. Begin to glare._

"So, leaky waterbed inconveniences aside, the main point of this meeting is to - - to - -" Greg began to falter under Grissom's glare. "Um, to gather and - -"

"Get to the point, Greg."

"You know what, I don't know. I can't think. I have samples. Um, I'm sorry. Sorry."

Game point: Gil Grissom. He dispassionately watched Greg flee the office, and pulled out a yellow pack of memo notes. Wrote: _Say something nice to Greg._

Then, because the gods were not consistently merciful, Catherine came in.

Catherine's look of wanting things was completely different than Greg's look of wanting things. When Greg wanted something, he looked needy. When Catherine wanted something, she looked dangerous, as if she might hold you down and force you to give it to her. This dangerous look was carefully concealed under perfect makeup and disarmingly sanguine expression, but he knew her too well to be fooled.

"If you want to leave early, you can," he said, trying to look busy.

"You got a minute?" she asked.

"I'm very busy."

"Gil, your desk is the neatest I've seen it in the last four years. If you don't have a minute to spare right now, you'll never have one."

"Maybe I'll never have one, then."

"I saw Greg leave. He looked crushed."

"Yes, well, his goldfish just died," Grissom lied. "He wanted to ask if I considered it heartless for him to flush poor Jeremy down the toilet."

"And you told him . . .?"

"Not heartless, but sanitary."

"I would have almost believed that ridiculous story," Catherine said, "except for one small, indisputable fact."

"And that is?"

"Greg's goldfish isn't named Jeremy. It's named Bartholomew. The rest of that was almost believable. Kudos."

"Damn."

"So I know that you must have said something else to him. And since I just got a party invitation from a sniffling Greg, I think I can guess."

"Catherine, for the sake of your vacation days, please just stop now."

She leaned forward, palms against his desk. "Go to his party."

"I knew you'd say that. Why do you always say that?"

"Sara's going to be there."

He scowled at her. Well, he scowled at her cleavage, which was a few inches away from his face. When Catherine leaned forward, scowling at her was impossible.

"I _know _that Sara's going to be there."

- -

A never-fail rule for dealing with CSI personnel_ - - if you send a plant to a young woman and tell her that she makes you notice beauty, then be prepared to deal with everyone thinking that you harbor a deep-seated romantic love for her. Also, be prepared to be annoyed when you realize that they're right, and you're an idiot._

_- -_

"So, you should go."

"I'm missing your point, and I'm not that eager to go looking for it."

"There are three points. One - - the party will give you an opportunity to talk to Sara and right whatever wrongs you caused. And don't look at me like that. Two - - you have no fun. The party will be fun. And three - - you hurt his feelings. He's depressing everyone."

"I finished a conversation with him not five minutes ago."

"Yes. I know. His depression is just _that _strong."

_Rule Two. Go the party. Just refuse to enjoy it._

"Fine," he said, sighing. "I'll go to the party. Does he have a theme for this one? Because last time, no one warned me that I was supposed to bring a gift. It's not my fault that Warrick didn't end up with a present."

"It has a theme, but he's been refusing to talk about it."

"This is never a good sign. Can't I just apologize?"

"Grissom, your best lab tech is sitting on a stool, very slowly revolving himself around, and listening to songs about suicide."

"I don't think that Greg would kill himself because I turned down a party invitation."

"I don't either, but wouldn't you feel so guilty if he did?"

"Catherine - - it's not really ethical to dangle Greg's potential suicide over my head. In fact, it's completely _unethical_."

"Whatever. Just go to the party."

- -

Grissom had always maintained two _other _rules about going to one of Greg's parties, to be executed in the event of his attendance.

Rule One: _Upon entering the room, ascertain which corner is the least occupied. After greeting Greg and various other coworkers and demonstrating that you can, in special circumstances, enjoy large quantities of company. Then retreat to the corner, drink the alcoholic beverages that are provided to you, and glower at anyone who attempts conversation._

_Also, if Greg has shrimp puffs, partake. He makes pretty good shrimp puffs._

Rule Two: _If someone decides that your glower is not intimidating, and you find that your corner is getting crowded, try to be polite._

_And if it's Sara, consider that this may be the perfect opportunity to tell her how you feel about her._

_Reject this opportunity in favor of cowardice._

_Beat yourself up about this later, and tell yourself that you'll change. Eventually. Tell yourself that she's not going to wait for you, and that you don't deserve her anyway. Tell yourself that you wouldn't have any problems seeing her with some other guy, as long as she's happy._

_Realize that this is complete bullshit._

_Wonder if you have any Scotch in the kitchen._

- -

"Grissom," Greg said happily. "You actually came. I'm impressed. Last time you accepted an invitation, you actually called to tell me that you had the flu."

"I did have the flu. It was a legitimate excuse."

More comfortable in his own apartment than in Grissom's office, Greg smirked at him and leaned against the doorway. "Oh, I get it now. You drove all the way to my apartment complex to suddenly realize that you had the flu and you called from the payphone downstairs to tell me. Face it, you got cold feet at the thought of joyous celebrations."

"How did you figure out that I called from the downstairs payphone?"

"I had a hunch. I bribed my landlady and looked at the surveillance tapes."

- -

Addendum Number One to the Rules:

_Never discount the instincts and abilities of your team. Also, never discount their sense of whimsy if they're bored or drunk enough at the right moment. They will turn on you, like rabid wolves._

_Wolves with cameras._

- -

Thirteen minutes into the party, Grissom remembered why he didn't like social situations. Greg was hospitable enough, as a rule, and had even taken him into the kitchen to show off an entire platter of crab puffs reserved for "the boss-man". And everyone was nice enough, going out of their way to include him in conversations as he drifted aimlessly from one person to another - - but - -

He was coming to a shocking realization.

He had nothing to say.

Nick and Warrick could spend a good ten minutes betting on who would win Jenga - - Dr. Robbins or Greg - - and Catherine was gleefully occupying the position of social butterfly, flitting between gatherings with ease - - but Grissom had nothing to say and too many people to say it to.

_I'm the most boring person in the world, _he realized.

This was corner-time.

There was only one problem.

"Sara," he said patiently, "you're in my corner."

"Tough. It's my corner now. Find your own."

"Can we share?"

The champagne was definitely affecting him. Champagne always made him giddy. This could be the moment. This could be _his _moment. This could be the culminating moment in his relationship with Sara. Granted, he had never expected it to take place in Greg's living room with the sounds of a Jenga competition in the background, but still.

She considered him.

"Okay," she said finally. "We can share. At least until Greg drags us out to play whatever bizarre party games he's cooked up for this one. Last time, he wanted us all to get ready for strip Monopoly, and when _that _didn't go over, we played Spin the Bottle with some hand sanitizer. I don't think his parents let him have any parties in high school, so he's taking it out on us."

"Spin the Bottle?"

"Yes, Grissom. It's a game where you twirl a bottle in a circle and then kiss the person to whom the neck of the bottle points."

- -

Addendum Number Two to the Rules:

_When discovering that you don't really like the idea of Sara kissing anyone else, try to hide it._

_When you fail to hide it - - because, really, you haven't succeeded in hiding anything very well for the last four years, let's face it - - do not, under any circumstances, attempt to mend this caveman-like jealousy by challenging her to Jenga._

_Because you'll lose._

- -

"Wait a minute, you play Jenga?"

"Absolutely," he said. "One of the entomologists at my annual conference invented one of the imitation Jenga games. Since he had a lot of prestige, we were usually expected to play."

Sara smiled, and drank some of her champagne. She didn't say anything.

"Listen," Grissom said, "if I can beat you at Jenga, you have to forgive me for being an ass."

Yeah, the champagne was definitely making him giddy. Not drunk - - but giddy.

Sara looked at him with amusement. "And what if I win? I mean, shouldn't I get something to play for here?"

"Sure. Pick some stakes."

"Okay," she said slowly, revolving the champagne glass in her hand. "If you win, I'm going to forgive you for your overflowing testosterone. And if _I _win, you're going to play _all _of the party games, no matter what they are this time. Spin the Bottle, karaoke, Truth or Dare . . . I want you there for all of them, however awkward."

He stared at her in shock.

"But I wasn't going to leave the corner."

"And you won't have to," she said reassuringly. "As long as you win."

He was so screwed. He'd never won a game of Jenga in his life.

With his luck, tonight was going to end with him kissing Greg.

- -

Addendum Number Three to the Rules:

_Upon breaking Addendum Number Two, feel suitably ashamed. You set up these things for a reason._

_Then proceed to pray for some mercy so you won't end up playing Greg's sadistic party games. Also, scream at everyone who approaches, so they know that this is a game of high stakes, and no one - - absolutely _no one_, Jim! - - is allowed to breathe on the Jenga game._

_Tell Sara to stop laughing at you._

_Take another piece out of the Jenga tower._

- -

"This is, quite possibly, the Jenga game of the decade," Greg said from across the room. He had to say it from across the room because Grissom wouldn't let him anywhere near the table. A small crowd had formed around the game, watching intently. "Following Dr. Robbins really _soundly _beating me into the ground, we are faced with this trembling tower - - Grissom's shaking hands - - Sara's quiet confidence . . ."

"Greg's lack of employment," Grissom muttered, as his "shaking hands" carefully pulled out a piece from the block. He held his breath. The tower remained.

Greg, blissfully unaware of this, continued. "It's my pleasure to be commentating on this great game. My absolute pleasure."

Sara took another piece out of the tower. It didn't even waver.

"How do you do that?" Grissom asked.

"Skill," she said, grinning. "I have very, _very _skillful fingers."

Grissom choked on his champagne.

"Can we have a demonstration?" Greg asked hopefully.

"I don't know, Greggo." Sara tapped her chin in mock thought. "How much Jell-O do you have on-hand right now?"

Greg squeaked. "I could go buy some. Lots of it. And, um, whipped cream."

"Down, boy," Catherine said, patting his arm. "She's kidding. Sara only plays Jenga games with Grissom. You'll have to find someone else."

"_Jenga _is not a euphemism for _sex_," Grissom said loudly.

He pulled out a piece. The tower toppled all over him.

Sara shook her head. "Should've been thinking about baseball, Grissom. Come on, we have crazy party games to play."

- -

Addendum Number Four to the Rules:

_If you end up knocking over the Jenga game, do not be surprised. It was your destiny._

_Allow Sara to drag you to various party games. Allow Greg to initiate various party games. Dream up devious ways to get back at them later._

_And, at all costs, avoid connecting Sara and Jell-O in your thoughts._

_This will only end in death._

- -

"So what do we play first?"

"Truth or Dare," Greg said promptly. "And it's my party, and I'm paying for the food and drinks that all of you are so shamelessly gorging on, so I get to pick first. Okay - - Catherine. Truth or Dare?"

"You can't handle me on a dare, Greg," she said sweetly.

"Ooh." Greg grinned. "Okay, Truth, then." He pursed his lips, deep in thought. "All right - - did you ever consider removing your ex-husband's testicles?"

"Sure," Catherine said. "Almost every day."

Every male in the room crossed his legs and winced. Greg shifted his beer bottle so that it covered his crotch, looking fearful. He pointed at Catherine.

"Your turn, o castrating woman of my dreams."

"Nick," she said promptly. "Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," Nick said.

"Coward," Greg said.

"Hey, you've _clearly _never played Truth or Dare in a fraternity. The last time I chose Dare, I ended up sitting nude on the roof of a sorority house, drenched in chocolate syrup."

"Too much information," Sara said. "Shouldn't that count as a Truth in itself?"

"No way. That's not even the question I was going to ask." Catherine paused dramatically. "Nick, when we worked the arson case, and you met that pyromaniac, were you attracted to her?"

"Cath, that's not fair."

"Sure it is. I just admitted to contemplating castration on Eddie. You can at least admit whether or not you thought your fire-chick was hot."

"Okay, yeah. She was hot. In a _disturbing _way."

"Thought you were a lace girl, not leather," Sara said, smiling at him. "I'm thinking a pyromaniac girl would be way more about the cowhide than the damsel-in-distress act."

"Hey, enough making fun of my taste in women."

"Nick," Warrick said seriously, "_what _women?"

"Dude, my revenge is here," Nick said. "Okay, Warrick, since you seem to be on top of everything, what's it going to be? Truth? Dare? Drinking game?"

Grissom was beginning to be hopeful. It was possible that he could safely avoid being chosen for Truth or Dare. Right now, things were working in circles of sexually-charged innuendo and vengeance, which meant that he would probably be exempt.

"Dare, since all the rest of you are too chicken."

Nick smirked. "Chicken, huh?"

Greg held up his hands. "Okay, before you dare Warrick, let me just warn you - - nothing's that going to get me evicted, and nothing that involves licking my toilet. The last time you guys did that I couldn't face my own bathroom for weeks."

"Chill, Greg. This is something much more dastardly and subtle than that."

Warrick crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"Okay, Warrick," Nick said with a wicked grin. "I dare you to do your Grissom impression."

- -

Addendum Number Five to the Rules:

_When it is revealed that one of your employees can do an adept (if slightly exaggerated) impression of you, chuckle at the appropriate moments and act as if this does not bother you. Smile a little._

_Stop when Greg says that this looks creepy._

_Realize that you just crushed your beer can in one fist. Laugh nervously._

_Try to contain your gasp of surprise when Sara leans against your side. You will be able to smell her shampoo. It will smell like peaches. Forget this smell later so that you never become aroused in the fruit section of the supermarket._

_But enjoy it while it lasts._

- -

"Nick, man, you're dead," Warrick said.

"I thought it was a surprisingly accurate impression," Sara said. "Bravo. I especially liked the part where you introduced Grissom as the 'horsefly-whisperer.'"

"Oh, you mean the part where I shamelessly threw away my job security?"

"Yeah," Sara said. "That part. Pick someone."

"You, girl," Warrick said. "You're going down, Sara. Truth or Dare?"

Sara leaned away from Grissom's side, and he made a mental note to have Warrick work nothing but trick rolls for the next month.

"Dare."

"Kiss Grissom," Warrick said.

- -

Addendum Number Six to the Rules:

_When a certain dare comes up, panic._

_A lot._

_Then wonder what facial expression you're supposed to be manifesting at the moment. Go for a very non-committal blankness._

_Try to remember if you brushed your teeth before this party._

- -

"That's sexual harassment, Warrick," Grissom said sternly.

"I'll kiss Sara," Greg offered.

"I know you would, Greggo," Warrick said. "That's why she has to kiss Grissom, instead. Because he's been playing hard-to-get for the last few years, and we're all sick of it." He looked at Sara. "Okay, if this is sexual harassment, I'm sorry."

"I'm not offended," Sara said. "Surprised, yeah. Offended - - no."

"Come on, guys," Greg said encouragingly. "A little lip-lock. We've been planning this for the last few months, carefully orchestrating every single movement so that you two could end up in this really awkward situation."

"So the part about whether or not Catherine ever thought about removing Eddie's _cajones _was all part of some master plan?"

"No," Greg said, "I was just curious about that one."

"Grissom," Sara said hesitantly, "you still haven't said anything. I mean, it's just a game. You don't have to _take me out to dinner _or anything. I know how you feel about lifetime commitments like that."

- -

Addendum Number Seven to the Rules:

_Never piss off Sara when she can avenge that wrong in public. Beware her sense of irony. Also, wonder when the rest of your team gave up on having their own lives and started orchestrating yours, instead. Then say something that makes it sound like you haven't been wishfully dreaming of this moment for the last few years. Something like:_

- -

"Well, okay," Grissom said.

Everyone applauded.

Sara shook her head at them, and then turned towards Grissom.

"You really don't mind doing this?"

"Let's just say that I don't mind doing it," he said softly, "as long as we both know that to me, it's _not _just a game."

Sara smiled. "Good," she said. "I don't like these kinds of games anyway."

She kissed him. Her lips were warm and soft and everything he'd wanted. He moved his hand from her shoulder to her neck, brushing back silky strands of brown hair.

"Okay, guys," Warrick said.

"Seriously," Nick added.

"That's enough," Catherine said.

"Yeah, yeah, you're in _love_," Greg said. "We _get _it."

"You have to breathe sometime," Brass said.

Grissom drew back, finally, and stroked Sara's cheek with his thumb. She smiled at him, and laughed a little. "You have my lipstick on your mouth," she said quietly.

"I have no issues with that," he said. "I was just thinking that I broke Rule Number Two."

"What's Rule Number Two?"

"Never have fun at one of Greg's parties."

"Oh, now, that's just _mean_," Greg said.


End file.
